Feeling a void spirituality might fill. Where do I start?

The recent realization that my grief was not always going to be sad, soft and poignant was a slap in the face to me. All of the hard work I’ve been doing to heal, fighting for every inch forward like some kind of running back reaching and stretching for a first down seems worthless when the anger and guilt appear. 

It’s not always like this. Most of the time, my life truly is beautiful. I laugh. I have joy. I go on adventures and have fun. Most days are a gift and I have gratitude for that gift. It’s just the tricky times, the times I reach for the tools in my toolbox and find them misplaced — those are the days when I realize I’ve learned nothing while learning everything. 

When I look at my life now compared to the first few months of my widowhood, I realize I’ve done a really good job at getting some things right. 

I knew I needed to take care of myself physically. I began to go back to the pool and I take aquafit classes almost daily. I add different dance classes, stretching classes and types of yoga. I generally eat better and, overall, my health has improved dramatically since the time I was married.

Mentally and emotionally, I worked with a grief counsellor early on. I’ve read books and blogs on grief and I’ve tried to shape how I want my life with grief to look. I remember the life of My Favourite Husband (MFH) through random acts of kindness and by doing my best to be thankful for what I had and not grieve what can never be. I challenge myself with new adventures and I surround myself with people who grow with me. I’m writing this new chapter of my life, the one where it’s just me, and I’m rocking it. 

So why do I feel like something is missing? Why am I restless? Why can’t I just be happy with the progress that I’ve made and curb whatever it is that’s making me think I’m overlooking something. What’s wrong with me?

First off, there’s a laundry list of things that are wrong with me but that’s not the point. The point is: if I feel there’s something not right, I need to trust my gut and dig deeper inside. And I am. And I think I’ve figured out what I’m missing. I’m not taking care of myself spiritually. And I'm not sure what taking care of myself in that way looks like at this point in my life.

The automatic response would be 'turn to God.' OK. I admit to having conversations with God but, if you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll realize that I’m not a traditional kind of women in many ways and the same holds true when it comes to praying. I don’t hit my knees beside my bed. I don’t always find a quiet, contemplative place and have a prescribed conversation. My talks tend to happen as I’m driving. I’m not sure why. As a side note, I’m not praying about the nonsense traffic and the bleep drivers. I just find that driving relaxes me and it’s a great time to chat. I give thanks. I ask for guidance for myself and others. I ask that the Bruins have a great season and, if God wants them to bring the Stanley Cup to Boston, I’m onboard. Basically, I have regular conversations; conversations with a friend . It’s cool. I love my conversations but I’m not sure that it’s enough. And, if it’s not, then what else? 

Now here’s where it gets tricky for me. I was raised Christian. I still consider myself to be Christian. Having said that, I’m a woman deeply soured on organized religion. Or, should I say, the organized religion of my youth. I grew up in a household that belonged to a certain denomination. And that denomination interpreted the Bible in some strict ways: no dancing, no drinking, no secular music, no movies. You get the idea. My parents, however, disobeyed all of those rules six days of the week and pinned angel wings on to go to church on Sunday. Most of the families in my farming community did the same. To be clear, the preacher was not fooled (nor was he amused). It did mean I could have a lot of fun but, even as a kid, I knew there was theatrics involved in pulling off the required behaviour for a Sunday. And I knew it was hypocritical. 

All of this bumped along until we got a preacher who not only enforced the church rules but added a twist: he denounced believers of a different faith. I couldn’t understand why a supposed man of God, someone who was supposed to be an example of 'love thy neighbour,' could publicly condemn them. And that’s when my disassociation with organized religion began. That’s when I shook my head over a religion twisting the words of the Bible to suit their own insidious purposes. And so rebellious me, people-pleasing me, put my foot down and said I was no longer going to attend the church I grew up in. My Mom was OK with it (it wasn’t the church she grew up in) but my Dad and I had a pretty good battle over it. He didn’t like it, didn’t understand it and told me to ignore it (it was just words) but, in the end, I got my way.

After I left home for college, I’d go to church Christmas Eve and for weddings and funerals. And I didn’t miss it. 

When I met MFH, he was lapsed in the faith he grew up in and so church wasn’t a priority in our marriage (although we did have a church wedding). 

Three years ago, when he died, I had a small gravesite service with immediate family only. I did have a priest read and pray but it was minimal church involvement. MFH had also become disillusioned with some of the histories, practices and abuses in his religion and separated himself. He would not have wanted a church funeral. He didn’t have one.

So that’s my religious history. Sketchy at best, definitely not a firm foundation. If I feel that my restlessness is being caused by not tending to and healing my spiritual side, then where do I begin? Has organized religion where fellowship and community that’s faith driven changed that much since I was a child? Is there such a community where you are free to choose to follow principles that make sense, uplifting all, demeaning none? Or is it still the same, where interpretations get twisted into words that serve the purpose of a leader? Can I simply believe in God, in a higher power, in doing my best to be a good person, doing good to others, love and accept others for themselves? Can it really just be about God and I? 

My epiphany has only been recent, so I think I need to start with being curious about and open to spirituality as a whole. I picked up a book a long time ago titled Spirituality for Badasses. Although the title did (and still does) make me grin, I picked it up for the line that reads, “The ultimate spiritual but not religious book." I read a little, put it down. Perhaps it’s time to revisit the book and explore the concept.  

As for organized religion, there are many faiths to explore if I choose. Before I do, though, I need to make peace with my past so that I can explore without the history of why I’ve given up on them for most of my life.

What I do believe is there is a higher power than me. I do believe there is a God. And I was pretty pissed off and angry with Him when MFH died. But I also know that I’ve come through the aftermath of MFH death with a greater guiding hand. I have beautiful people in my life, I have my own strength and resilience but there were moments when I could not tell you how I got through a certain situation. I just know that I did.

I don’t believe that our physical death is the end of our soul journey — that there is more. I’m not sure if we are angels, energy or spirits but I believe that we find peace and purpose when our time on earth ends. 

I hope that wherever my spiritual journey leads me to, however I define it for me, it will help soothe the part of me that is uneasy, restless. I hope that part of me finds peace.